


It is the Salt that Binds Us.

by Spocksandshoes



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV), Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: A collection of narrative drabbles about Ironborn Russians, AU, F/M, Fluff, Pacific Rim/ Game of Thrones crossover, Pirates, Pregnancy, Sexy Times, War, just go with it, oh and also dragons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-12
Updated: 2013-09-21
Packaged: 2017-12-26 09:24:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 7,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/964299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spocksandshoes/pseuds/Spocksandshoes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aleksis, firstborn of House Greyjoy and the pride of the Ironborn, has taken a saltwife.</p><p>Or maybe she has taken him. He's not too sure himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. It is the Salt that Binds Us.

The first time she called him her salt-husband, he grunted in amusment. 

''I am no husband.'' He told her, sliding the edge of a whetstone against the grey blade of his axe. The noise was sharp and grating in the small room, but neither of them deigned to notice it.  
''Salt-wives are the names given to our whores. No more.''

The axe was pushed out of his hands and she lifted her skirts and brazenly slid into his lap.  
''Am I your whore?'' Her tone was blunt, and he had the distinct feeling that the answer was in her question.

''No.'' He rumbled, admitting defeat.

Her lips almost curled up in a smile.  
''And are you married, sworn before the drowned god to wed and bed a maiden?'' Her fingers traced down his chest idly, like she was committing him to memory.  
Or deciding where to gut him first. It was hard to know, with Sasha.

''..No.''

''And have you other salt-wives you fuck?'' An eyebrow was raised then, and he felt his cheeks twitch in amusment.  
He had a feeling that he was losing this battle. A battle with steel and blood he often won. A battle with glib tongues and quick mouths was scarcely his forte.  
He had a feeling, that in this case, he didn't particularly mind.

''...No.''

''Then this is as good a marriage as either of us has. And if I am yours, Kraken-son, then you are mine.''

Women were not so bold, even on the Iron islands, where they were born to mothers who drowned them as soon as they were weaned.  
But Sasha- for everything he took from her, she took the same from him.  
And oh, he would love her til the Drowned god called him home.

''I could marry another.'' He rumbled, nuzzling their noses together, his lips brushing hers as large hands slipped under her skirts, drawing a soft laugh from her.  
''You could.'' She agreed. ''You marry some sweet young maid and get her big with your child, and I'll kill them both.'' 

He drew back to look at her, and she was looking back at him, with eyes as bright as the icy North-wall, and just as cold. 

''You would harm my future sons?''  
A growl accompanied his words, testing her mettle, and she smiled, her smile sharp. ''Not if I carried them.''

And he couldn't remember ever loving someone more than this fierce woman who would kill just to call him hers.

''You are mine, Kraken-son. Even if all that binds us is the salt.''


	2. It is the Salt that Keeps us.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ''I would take you as my lady wife.''
> 
> It would have been cruel of her to remind him that once he had claimed to be no husband.

''I would take you as my wife.''  
The words seemed thick and clumsy in his mouth, and he drew himself up to his full height and looked down at her from under thick brows that made him look as severe as the son of the Kraken should.

But despite his build and his intimidating presence, the statement trails off with an uncertain tone at the end.  
He, the most brutal Ironborn since the age of the Seastone chair, was asking permission.

She padded barefoot across the stone floor of Pyke's tallest tower, her fair hair loose and mussed and tumbling over her shoulders.  
He would have given her all the silks in the seven kingdoms, but she insisted on paying the iron price for her own clothes. Everything she wore, she paid for, with the sharp end of an axe against a Merchants throat. 

Her clothes were not the clothes of a lady, they were a muted red cotton, and plain, and did little to hide the gentle swell of her stomach, but she looked better to him that any powdered lady in any golden court from Pyke to Volantis and back.

''You would make me a bride.'' Her tone is wry, and she reaches him and takes his hands in hers.

''Yes.''

''You, heir to the Iron Islands, would take a salt-wife as your bethrothed, under old gods and new?'' There was a teasing tone in her voice now.

''There is no god but the one who sleeps under the sea.'' He pressed a whiskery kiss to her forehead. ''And he cares little about who I plant my seed in.''

''How romantic.'' Her laughter was still wry, but her fingers squeezed his hands, and she moved to press his palm against the warm curve of her abdomen.  
''Every maid would sigh to hear those words, I'm sure.''

There was a tiny stir of movement underneath his palm, and Aleksis found himself on his knees, driven there by the need to frame her sides with his large palms, resting his forehead against her stomach, where their babe grew.  
He swallowed, a surge of pride burning in his heart, fierce and protective, for this child that would sail with him, and grow up to be a fighter as brave as its mother as tall as its father.

Their child.

''This is my heir. Our heir. You've proven yourself as an Ironborn time and again. I want you as my lady wife.''

Her fingers curled in his hair, stroking thoughtfully. ''It's seems opportune that you ask now.''  
He stilled. ''Explain.''

''If we wed before the babe is birthed, then it is born as a legitimate heir. No-one will question their right to the Islands.''  
Sasha shook her head. ''My bastard child will win the Islands like his father, and his father before him. With blood and steel and the iron price. I need no marriage to tell me that my child will rule, save for the axe in his hand and the Krakens blood in his veins.''

''...You won't marry me.''

''No. Not now.''

''Lady Greyjoy. Is that such a terrible thing to be?''

She kissed his forehead.  
''I was born to commonfolk. I don't need a title to give me purpose. And neither does our child. There is no shame in a bastard son.''

He didn't understand, but he said nothing. Nothing was ever denied the Ironborn captain. What he wanted, he took. It was the Ironborn way. And this, what he wanted more than anything he had wanted in years, was being refused him.  
And he would not take it. He loved his wild, willful lover, and would give her the world, even if it meant denying himself.

There was a sigh, and her hands gentled in his hair, like she understood. When she spoke, her tone was a shade softer.

''You lords and ladies think marriage binds everything. You think people are not whole unless they are married. I didn't slit your throat when you took me from my home. I sail your ships and warm your bed and carry your son. What else do you need to prove that we are one? A vow? Words are wind.''

He still said nothing, unsure of what to say. But he tilted his head to look up at her and she ducked her head to kiss him.  
And he, the terror of the coast, the raider of the Arbor and heir to the Seastone chair, melted against her lips.

''You're mine, Kraken-son. Even if all that binds us is the salt.''

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These drabbles will doubtless continue.  
> Because badass Russians and Pirates.


	3. It is the Salt that We Become

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Great Houses of Westeros call a meeting in Kings Landing, to discuss the Dragon problems in the east.
> 
> Aleksis wants to fight the dragons. Sasha wants to give birth first.  
> And THEN fight the dragons.

Sasha stood beside him as the doors to the Iron throne-room opened. 

Her stomach was swollen heavily, and the journey over rough seas had taken its toll on her, but the captain stood tall, her jaw set, and her chin high, a blade on her back and his sigil on her breast.

She had grown up in a small raided village on the Stepstones, with stony beaches and muddy fields and travelling hedge knights and fishermen.  
Kings landing was bright and ornate and beautiful in comparison to her humble beginnings.  
She did not look impressed.

Esfir and Agata stood at his shoulders. His brother, tall and scarred and challenging. And his sister, dark of hair and darker of wit, with her axe strapped to her hip.  
They were the children of the Kraken, and they ruled the sea.  
Together, along with the pregnant salt-wife, they captained the four fleet-ships of the Ironborn. They commanded respect, and fear, and the waves themselves, and they would not be condescended to by powdered lords and ladies on their little thrones.

The giant. His scarred freak brother. His sister who lacked a husband to control her, and his pregnant whore. He knew what they thought of them.  
Of the Kraken sigil hung from a chain over his cloak.  
And he met their eyes, and didn't care.

The meal was something over-extravagant. Agata was hollowing out a bread trencher with her blade, ignoring all else.  
Esfrid was engaged in conversation with the arrogant son of Lord Redwyne. And seemed smug that the boys dog seemed to favour Esfir over his irate master.  
Aleksis had to try not to smirk.

Sasha was being given a wide berth. The Krakens, they feared. But a salt-wife? Unwed and carrying a bastard child? That was worth disdain.

The whispers were loud.

Whore.

Out of place.

A woman playing at being a man.

No virtue.

Weak.

The ones who were smart held their tongues. The ones who had seen her split a man's skull open lowered their eyes.

''How were you thinking of birthing the babe?''  
Some poor over-dressed lady decided to engage her in conversation, no doubt referring to all the fads in the city of how ladies should give birth.  
In Maester's medicines and in certain positions and whatever else.

Sasha turned and eyed her for a few moments.

''Well.'' She said calmly. ''I was considering pushing it out of my cunt.''

The hall went quiet, and Aleksis had to drain his tankard to stop himself from laughing.

The lady stopped trying to talk to Sasha after that.

****

They were given quarters. He didn't miss the cruel note in the Maester's voice when he commented that they could put a bed on the floor beside the master bed.  
Sasha's smile was iron, and she assured him that Aleksis would have no call to sleep on the floor. 

When he was gone, Aleksis chuckled, and tugged her clothes off and kissed from her mouth down to her stomach, down to between her legs, where she sighed his name and curled her fingers in his hair, tight enough to hurt. 

 

''I could steal all this for you.'' He offered lazily, later, as they drifted off to sleep, his fingers curling around her stomach.  
She found it hard to sleep most nights, with the aches in her back and the babe kicking, but she laughed softly and leaned against him, her lips tipping back to trace his bearded jaw.  
''I could steal it for myself.''

He had no doubt that she could. 

****  
Dragons, the Maesters said.  
And the Houses of Martell and Stark and Lannister and Baratheon and all the others burst into laughter.  
The Maesters and their scholars stood firm. 

A Targaryen was beyond the sea, shielded and raised in secret by a Summer Islander. A girl who dyed some of her hair a bright Tyroshi blue.  
A girl with fire in her veins, seeking retribution for her family that had been butchered in the Uprising.  
And she had mothered dragons. And she was returning for the blood she was owed.

The laughs quieted slowly, and from amusement came disbelief, and from that, came wary concern.

Sasha didn't seem worried, as they strolled in the gardens that evening, given a wide, disdainful berth by servants and ladies alike. The Krakens were there on invite, because of an old treaty and because of necessity. Not because they were welcome.  
''So, the girl has birthed a dragon.'' Her fingers idly stroked over her abdomen, smiling faintly as the babe kicked. ''I fail to see the danger. I carry a Kraken.''

''Three dragons. I doubt you carry a son for each.''

She smiled at the teasing tone in his voice. ''Why should I ? Three dragons against one Kraken is an even match.''

****

''They want our ships.''  
The four were gathered around a table in the Quarters they had given Aleksis, drinking Dornish red and Hippocras.

His brother's expression darkened, and he muttered into his cups and oath that was muffled with wine. His sister looked intriuged.  
''The Arbor isn't going to like that. Lord Hercules was raided thrice in the last season by our boats.''

''Aye, but he's hardly my concern.''

''Then who is?'' Sasha stared longingly at the wine in Esfirs hand, before shaking her head. ''They want us to fight dragons with them? Who would we trust in a Westerosi fleet? Dorne?''

''The Triplets from Tyrosh. They would help.'' Aleksis replied.

Agata spat. ''All of Essos is behind the Dragon-girl. We cannot depend on them and their ships. No matter of our past relations.''

Esfir smirked. ''Depend on them? Like the lords want us to depend on the Lions and Stormlords? We can depend on no-one, sweet sister.''

''Our boats are wood and the dragons breathe fire. We would be going to our graves.''

''And what better way, than with a lungful of saltwater?'' Aleksis interjected raising an eyebrow. ''What is dead may never die.''

''What is dead may never die.'' Agata agreed in the same breath as her scarred brother, and they fell silent for a moment, til Sasha spoke.  
''But rises again.'' She finished the saying, a final note in her tone as she looked around the table at the other three captains. And it made Aleksis so ridiculously fond of her, that it took the non-Greyjoy, the one who had tooth-and-nail fought to get here, was the one to finish their words.  
''Harder and stronger. My sometime-husband is right. They are fire? Then we are salt, and stone. And we do not suffer angry children and dragonfire.''

The four looked at each other across the table, and they were silent.

''I've always longed to kill a dragon.'' Agata remarked. 

And that was that.

****

They left Kings Landing two days later. 

Sasha went into labour two days after that.

Aleksis had never been more scared in his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be a series of drabbles and then this turned into a full chapter.  
> Oops.  
> Sorry not sorry.
> 
> Hooray! Dragon/Kaiju parallels! Hooray!
> 
> Most canon characters are going to be as ambiguous as possible so if you think someone is someone, then they probably are someone. If that makes sense.


	4. It is the Salt that Gives us Life.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She lost it, the third time he went to inquire about her well-being.
> 
> ''Do I look at ease to you!??! Get out, before I take your sympathy and cram it up your arse!''
> 
> He decided it would be better to wait outside.  
> A man's place was- apparently- outside the birthing chamber.

''The babe. It's- aaahhhhh.''

The words were drowned out by a hiss of pain, and Sasha's fingers clenched as the Maester rushed over, murmuring soothing words.  
Aleksis stood beside her, unmoving and bewildered, listening to the pains get worse. 

''Are you-''

She lost it, the third time he went to inquire about her well-being.

''Do I look at ease to you!??! Get out, before I take your sympathy and cram it up your arse!''

He decided it would be better to wait outside.

His crew- and hers- sat with him. They jibed and jested, trying to calm his nerves, telling him of all their sons, and what they done on the night of the birth.  
The majority of them, it turned out, were at sea, and only found out about their bastards the next time they visited their wives.  
A few years later.

After the first scream that echoed through the chamber, his blood turned to ice, and he sent them away.

 

It was a full night of pacing before the Midwife sent for him.

The tower was cold and dark, the dawn filtering in cold light from the broad windows. The fire was nearly dead in the grate, and there, on the large bed, covered in furs and blankets, Sasha lay, her arms around a small pile of blankets.

He strode forward, heart in his throat. And then she turned her head, and her lips twitched upwards wearily, and slowly moved to hold out the bundle.

The baby was tiny, fitting easily in his palms, a shock of dark hair curling against its small forehead. It was curled up in a blanket it could have been lost in, its eyes shut tight.

"A son. " Sasha was pale, her skin sickly and clammy with the sweat on her brow. He had seen her argue down men twice her size, he had seen her struggle through battering waves and driving storms. He had seen her in the heat of battle, and suffer injuries, but nothing could compare to how tired and drawn she looked now. 

From the sweet smell in the room, and the fact that she was no longer threatening his arse, he guessed the Maester had given her milk of the poppy for the pain. 

And he held the babe gently, and stared from her to it and back, and then tiny grasping fingers closed around his thumb.

He couldn't remember the moment he had fallen in love with Sasha. It was gradual, like the tides. They learned from each other, and fucked and sailed and fought, and it happened like drowning. One deep breath, and she was inside his lungs.

But the moment the tiny fingers squeezed his thumb, Aleksis was blinded by pride, and worry, and love- so much love for this little Kraken-son- that it made his chest hurt. This was his son. He had finally met his son- the son that his lethal, beautiful lover had given him.

"I'm naming him Vladislav." Sasha watched them, her eyes glazed over from the Maesters remedies, but the look of pride in her eyes was unmistakable.

"I think a father has a say in his sons name." He raised an eyebrow and she stared back at him, her chin jutting out defiantly, despite the exhaustion on her face.

"When you push out a child, you can name it."

He laughed, and looked down at the baby in his arms.  
This.. ugly, squished, beautiful little creature, that opened its eyes and stared blearily up at his father with dark, Greyjoy eyes.  
"Vladislav Pyke. The bastard son of the Iron Islands.'' 

''I have heard of worse titles. The Iron Bastard is one I think he can live with.''

''Aye.''

''Don't go having any legitimate children, now. Or he'll have to kill them for his claim.''

He raised an eyebrow. ''Maybe it's the poppy-milk, but I can't tell if you're joking or not.''  
She sighed, leaning back into the blankets with a grimace of pain. ''Funny. Neither can I.''

The babe screwed up his face and wailed loudly, and Aleksis had never been more terrified in all his life.  
Sasha watched his expression with a soft laugh, taking their son back into her arms. "He needs his mothers milk. Not a clueless sea-brute."

He lay down beside them, kicking off his mud-caked boots and falling into a comfortable silence, drinking in the sight of the tiny wriggling bundle in Sasha's arms.

"He will need to be offered to the drowned god." Aleksis eventually reminded her, watching the babe suckle.

"Try and drown my son and I'll offer you to the drowned god in his place." She said idly, stroking her sons dark curls, and the proud father couldn't find it in him to argue now.


	5. It is the Salt that Chokes Us.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ''I did not carry your child for nine moons for you to toss him into the sea!''   
> Her teeth were bared as she snarled at him, physically planting herself between him and the crib, as if he were like to rip the babe from his slumber and plunge him into the waves right then.
> 
> Aleksis wants to christen their son in the Ironborn tradition.
> 
> Sasha disagrees.

''He is an Ironborn. He will be baptised as one.''

''I did not carry your child for nine moons for you to toss him into the sea!''   
Her teeth were bared as she snarled at him, physically planting herself between him and the crib, as if he were like to rip the babe from his slumber and plunge him into the waves right then.

''The Damphair hasn't lost a child yet.''

''I DON'T CARE WHAT THE DAMPHAIR LOSES!!''

She would have gutted him from groin to throat if he moved, he was sure of it. But he would not move- not back, not forward. He would stay and he would win this argument.  
''You should.''

Her jaw tightened at the implication of his words, that the inevitable was that that thrice-damned madman who dip her son beneath the sea til he choked and died, all with the mere hope that he could bring him back.  
''You will not take my son from me. I'll kill you before you try.''

''You willingly carried my child, do not talk to me about your son. He is a Greyjoy, and he will be reborn from the sea.'' His tone brooked no argument. 

Neither did hers.

''You. Will not. kill. my. son.''

''You could have chosen to have him elsewhere, yet here we are. And here, he will be offered to the Drowned god.''

''What would you have me do? Drink Moon Tea? Run away and leave my crew to raise a child destitute and alone!?''

''I'd have you trust me. Do you think I'd insist on it if I thought our son was not safe?!''

''He's a babe. What do you know of him? How do you know he'll survive?''

''He's strong. He will survive.''

''Strength does not come from birth, Kraken-son.'' Her tone was fire, and her eyes were stone.   
''I am strong because I was stolen and ridiculed and I fought through stupid men and bad seas to get here. I made me strong.''

''I'm not-''

''But I was not this strong as a babe. If infants were strong enough to survive drowning, they wouldn't need their mothers.''

He stopped, and looked at her. No-one talked over him. Ever. His voice didn't allow for it.   
He looked at her, and then looked closer. Her jaw was clenched. Her lip was curled. Her eyes were narrowed and her fists were clenched.  
Anger. Upon anger upon anger.

He looked closer.

Fear. Anger. Love. Determination.

He stepped closer, holding up his palms, and slowly moved to gently grip her shoulders. He ducked and pressed a kiss to her forehead, the softest comfort he could offer.  
He could feel an unsteady hitch in her breathing, and something sharp and metal clinked against the stones at their feet, loosened from her clenched fingers. 

And slowly, very slowly, she leaned against him, neither of them saying a thing.

 

The Damphair stood in the waves, and the sky was grey to match Aleksis' mood.   
Sasha's face could have been carved from the granite cliffs that towered over the nearby shore. She stepped into the waves, dressed in britches and a heavy cloak, her infant son clutched in her arms.

The breeze snatched at the tendrils of her hair, ruffling the braids, and the soft mop of dark hair on her sons head.   
Her son- who, was making his opinion of the cold breeze well-known, by wailing.

She stopped when the cold waves had soaked all the way up to her thighs.

As the Damphair reached for her son, she shook her head, and Aleksis' blood ran cold.

''No. Christen us both.''

The Damphair glanced at Aleksis, and Sasha didn't even look back. ''If I lose a son, then Aleksis loses a wife. The Drowned god can have us both.''

No. He wanted to say, devout faith warring with gut-wrenching worry. It choked him, bitter and sharp like the sea filling his families lungs.  
He forced himself to watch as his sons wails were silenced by the sea.

The water spilled from her lips as their bodies were dragged unto the beach, limp and cold. Sasha's hair was plastered to her head, her arms still tight around the little body nestled on her chest, like she could protect him even as she pulled him beneath the waves.

It was all Aleksis could do not to drop to his knees at the sight.  
It was all he could do not to roar his grief and tear the priests arms from his body when he went to pick up the babe.

But then there was a splutter, and a screech of bewildered indignation, and his boy was breathing again, tiny arms waving as it cried from the cold and the confusion and the sting of the salt water in its eyes, and Aleksis almost felt weak from the relief, tugging off his cloak to wrap up the child.

''What is dead may never die.''

There was a choked, sharp breath, and Sasha's eyes flew open, her chest heaving as she coughed the water from her lungs.  
He had never heard a better sound.

''But rises again. Harder and stronger.''

 

She slept that night on her side, facing away from him, her child safe in her arms.  
He stayed awake, and watched them sleep, and when she woke up, gasping from a watery dream, he pulled her into his arms and held them tightly until she relaxed against his side, trusting him enough to let their son sleep on his fathers chest, snuffling softly in his sleep.

They were Ironborn, birthed from the waves of the Drowned gods watery halls.

His lover and his son were strong. His family would endure.


	6. It is the Salt that Pulls us Apart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ''Her kindness and beauty didn't matter a damn when the dragons came.''
> 
> Sasha is terrible at bedtime stories.

''Dragons.''

Sasha's fingers traced through the dark hair on his chest, idly drawing patterns. His arms moved, hands trailing down her bare back, resting on her hip.

''Aye.''

She kissed him, and he chuckled, a quiet rumble, and pulled her close, relishing the press of lean muscle and soft breasts against his skin.   
''But not today. The dragons can wait.''

She kissed him again, hands framing his bearded jaw in a motion that was as tender as she got.   
''Dragons can wait.'' She agreed, sighing and sitting up as shouts went up from the grey yard below. ''The Tyroshi allies however, will not.'' 

The Triplets were three sallow-skinned men with sharp jaws and identical smiles. Their ships were identical too, decorated in bright red and gold, cutting through the waves with the speed and grace that none of the Ironborn ships had.   
They were cunning and quick in the way they moved and spoke and greeted their hosts with jests, as charming as they were infuriating.

When Aleksis turned around, the youngest Triplet was standing by Sasha, chatting to the giggling baby in her arms- he had offered her a nurse to help her care for the child, but she had refused, and held Vlad as she greeted her guests, eyeing the youngest Triplet who- wisely- didn't get too close.

 

''You want to fight dragons?''

They sat in the main hall of Pyke, nursing tankards as the night fell.

''They're beasts of the air, not of the sea. We tangle them in nets and shoot their wings to tatters, and let the sea do the rest.''  
The middle triplet's accent was thick, almost hard to understand, but he was also the most talkative. No-one mentioned it.

''We could barb our arrows.'' Agata suggested, earning herself an interested smile from the triplet that Aleksis pointedly ignored.  
''Rope them to the decks and separate the ships. The barbs will tear holes in the wings as the ships move.''

''We'll need to be quick about it, lest they burn the ropes and us along with them.'' Esfir added, drawning the attention to him. ''

''It's a fools errand.'' The youngest triplet spoke out, studying his tankard. ''But as well-prepared as we could hope.''

''The Arbor has a two hundred warships. Kings Landing can provide half that. Tarth, even less. It should be enough to take down three beasts.''

''And the Ironborn?'' The oldest Triplet asked, a sly note to his voice.

Aleksis grinned. The grin looked vicious. ''A hundred. ''

The oldest one- Hu, or was it Jin?- laughed, a flash of white teeth. ''Half of what the Arbor has, and they ask you to lead?''

''We're better. Foot-soldiers on ships are not as dangerous as men who have lived on the sea. ''

''I don't doubt it. What have you to offer us, for our help?''

''What do you want?'' 

Jin grinned sharply, his eyes mischievous. ''We could ask for your women.''  
Sasha's smile held the promise of copper. ''You'd have to ask for your cocks back, first.''

There was a stunted pause in the conversation as he realised she was holding a knife.

The triplets seemed to decide that gold was enough of a price.

 

Vladislav has barely reached his first nameday when the fleet had assembled. 

''Bladdk.'' He said confidently, seeming convinced that it was an actual word as he tugged on his fathers beard.  
''Indeed.'' Aleksis rocked him in his arms, and covered the babe's cheeks with whiskery kisses, causing his son to shriek in laughter and wriggle, til the towers rafters echoed with the childs laughter.

''So this is the man people fear?''  
He froze guiltily, eyes raising to see Sasha leaning against the doorpost, smirking at him. ''The mighty Kraken? Playing with a babe, like a wetnurse?''

''Hardly my consequence.'' He replied in a rumble, straightening up as his lips twitched upwards under his beard. ''Your son is very persuasive.''  
''My son? The one who cannot talk yet?'' Her eyebrow raised as she stepped closer, expression softening as Vladislav reached out for her, one chubby hand gripping tightly around the cloak-chain his father wore. ''Or do I have another persuasive son that has slipped my notice?''

He chuckled, and they stood in their tower, resolutely not looking towards the sea, where the fleet gathered.  
''He will be a strong fighter.'' Sasha's fingers traced the infants cheek, and for a second she looked almost sentimental. ''Tall like his father.''

The baby cooed and gurgled and said half-words. Aleksis couldn't look anywhere else, committing him to memory.  
His strong son.

''We have to go.'' She said the words softly, but neither of them moved. 

 

Aleksis didn't speak as she took his son from him, and moved across the room, her voice low and soothing.

''There once was a princess, beautiful and loved by all her subjects. All the knights named her the Queen of Love and Beauty at every Tourney, and all her bards and commonfolk talked about was her kindness, and her beauty, and how loved she was.''  
Sasha tucked her son into his tiny wooden crib, and kissed his forehead.

''And she married a handsome lord and gave him laughing daughters and lively sons and they lived in their castle and feasted on sweetmeats and swan and every night their halls were full of dancing and music .''

''And when the dragons came, the flesh melted off her bones and she died the cruellest death, along with her lord and her children and her knights and maids and bards.  
None of her kindness and beauty mattered a damn when the dragons came.''  
Her voice shook for a moment, and she brushed the mop of dark hair from her sons head.

''But she was not a Kraken. And what is dead may never die.''

She lingered by the crib, and Aleksis stood with her, understanding without saying a word, that it was a goodbye.  
It was the best explanation she could give, to an infant who didn't understand, why his parents were not coming home.

And the look on her face damn near broke his heart.

She looked at her son, and she stood straight, and her jaw pulled taut, and she turned and walked away. She didn't look back.

Aleksis silently unhooked the heavy chain from around his neck, a thumb brushing over the old Kraken sigil on the metal.  
He left it hanging on the edge of the cot, and walked after his wife.

He never saw her tears, but she stood at the prow of her ship, proud and angry, and when the Islands were out of sight, she didn't see his either.


	7. It is the Salt that Takes our Hope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ''Why? What do I possibly owe you?!''
> 
> ''Nothing. You owe me nothing. But I ask anyways. Find my son. Care for him, and raise him by the sea. Please.''

The fleet gathered at the Arbor. Galleys and warships from the Westerlands and the Stormlands and the North. From Dorne and Braavos and Tyrosh.  
They jostled in the water and filled the sea around the Islands, and the Captains gathered to strategise.  
Sasha and Agata were the two of the only three women. The third was a silent, sallow-skinned woman from the Lys, her hair cut shorter than a mans, with a thin blade strapped to her hip.  
The men did not appreciate women amongst their midst, playing at war.  
The women did not care what the men thought.

''I will not be lead by a woman.'' One of the lords declared on the first night, and Agata just smiled at him, knives in her smile.  
''Yes you will.'' She said, and that was that. 

 

''Sasha.''   
They stumbled back to their quarters, bleary-eyed after hours of conversation and tactics and plans, poring over maps and inventory lists.  
He yawned, feeling the muscles in his jaw creak.  
''Yes?'' Her clothes were tugged over her head and left to carelessly pool on the floor as she headed for their bed.

She had been quiet all day. This was her first real word spoken to him since they left.

There was a pause, and they settled into the silence as the candle was snuffed out.

''It's okay to pine for the babe.''  
She tensed beside him, in the darkness. ''I know.''

''Then why are you guarding yourself?''

''I don't need to give the idiot men under my command another reason to think of me as weak. Not now, with Dragons on the horizon.''

''I am not an idiot man, nor am I under your command. You don't need to guard yourself around your own husband.''

''I know.''

There was a pause.   
''You need not, either. Women are not the only ones who miss their children.''

They held each other tightly til they fell asleep.

 

Esfir was the first of the the Krakens to die.

The dragonfire rent the air, scorching in its wake, and people screamed and died and the clash of metal and the screams of the dragons and the smell of blood was enough to drive a man to his knees.  
The dragon-daughters army was no match for the Ironborn. They were talented soldiers, yes, but the Ironborn at the head of the fleet was merciless on the waves, claiming lives and boats the the drowned god.  
And then there were wingbeats on the Horizon, and everything went straight to one of the seven hells.

The fleet dragged itself back to their refuge. The Triplets' fleet had lost 20 ships. The arbour had lost 50. All in all, over a hundred ships had been given to the Drowned god that day.

Agata did not speak,silent in her grief and refusing help from the healers who tried to soothe the ragged cuts of her face.  
Aleksis raged, at the gods, at the dragons, at his thrice-damned brother, for dying.   
And he raged and cursed oaths to every deity he could think of, and when his words had run dry, he wept, and Sasha held him, mourning the brother they had lost.

 

The lord of the Arbor was as sour as his mood was like to get.  
His right arm had been shattered in the battle, and all the Maesters potions and salves wouldn't dull the throbbing pain of a useless limb.  
Or the bitter taste in his mouth.

He had been about to retire, when a maid told her that he had company.  
He wasn't expecting the tall figure of the Ironborn saltwife to be standing in his reading room, waiting silently for him.

''My lady.'' Hercules was nothing if not a polite man, and he inclined his head, after a breif silence.  
''I am no lady.'' The woman replied, her eyes spearing him. But her tone was nothing if not cordial. ''There is no need for formalities, Lord Redwyne.''

''Very well.'' Hercules sat with a grimace, and motioned for her to do the same. She didn't. He ignored it. ''How can I help you?''

''There is a boy, cared for in the tallest tower on Pyke. My son.'' She stared at him like she was stone, her jaw set firmly.   
The Lord of the Arbor raised his eyebrows and shrugged. ''I know you have a babe. But I fail to see what-''

''You're wounded. You cannot sail a ship and you cannot fight.''

''I am aware of mine own injury.''

''Do you intend to fight?''

Her bluntness took him by surprise. ''Do you imply that I am a coward?''

''There's nothing cowardly about stratagising. You would be useless on a ship with a crippled arm.''

Herc's jaw clenched. ''I am aware.''

She drew closer. ''We are going to die, all of us.''   
He didn't argue.

''You've seen those dragons. We barely injured one. We will not survive this.''

''We are both on the same side, Salt-wife. Just tell me what you want.''

''Leave the fight, and go to Pyke. One of our sons is going to die alone, and it shouldn't be the babe.''

''So because I'm wounded, I should turn tail and abandon my post? My son?''

''Your son is a man of one-and-twenty. He is capable of leading a fleet.''

''And you want me to send him to his death alone?''

She shook her head. ''Think about this, Lord Redwyne. Your son is already lost. As am I. My son is not.''

''Why? What possibly do I owe you?!''

''Nothing. You owe me nothing. But I ask anyways. Find him. Care for him, and raise him by the sea. Please.''  
There was a silence.

''I will get down on bended knee and beg you if thats what you want.'' He met her eyes, and she hadn't moved.

He had no doubt that she would, either, sacrifice her pride and go on bended knee to save her son. But oh, she would hate him til her death if he asked that.  
Or maybe it was a test. Maybe she wanted to see what kind of man she was asking to care for her son.

''I can't leave my son.''

''I left mine.''

''That was your choice.''

''And this is yours.''

She bowed her head, and left, leaving the Lord of the Arbor to sit and stare at the nearby wall, lost in thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shoutout to thats-so-ravenholm, who was kind enough to write me a lovely message about this fic : D
> 
> And Niyin, who I pestered with my ideas for this chapter.  
> Y'all are top-notch.


	8. It is the Salt that Drowns us.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ''Do you know what the Braavosi say?''  
> They stand on the prow of her ship, waves crashing and spraying their faces with the salt.  
> ''Valar Mhorgulis.''

''Do you know what the Braavosi say?''

They stand on the prow of her ship, waves crashing and spraying their faces with the salt.  
''Valar Mhorgulis.''

She nods. ''All men must die.''

''Yes.''

''Do you know what they say after that?''

He shook his head.

''Valar Doeharis.'' She says, and looks forward and the ship ploughs through the waves. ''But first we live.''

He looks at her then, and she looks back, the expression in her eyes proud, and resigned. Her fingers- rough with callouses- squeezed his.  
''And we have lived.''

 

 

The triplets ships were burning. 

Agata was somewhere among the dead, throat opened by Dragon teeth and claws.  
The ships of Kings Landing and Braavos and Dorne and Tarth were indistinguishable in the chaos.  
The young Redwyne Captain had last been seen trying to get his men off of his doomed vessel, blood seeping from a gaping wound in his chest.

As far as the eye could see, it was fire and death til the horizon.

They stood on the deck of their dying ship, in a red sea littered with crushed ships and floating bodies.  
It was lost.

And the one healthy dragon and it's wounded brother circled, howling.

And they stood side by side, wounded and dying on one remaining, sinking ship, clenching their fists and howling in return.  
They screamed back, wordless in their anger, roaring at these circling beasts as the corpse-strewn deck dripped with their blood.

And the first dragon dived, fire on its tongue.

Hand in hand, they stumbled and leaped, plunging into the bloodied sea as the deck exploded in fire.

She was at his side, sodden and bloodied and treading water as he surfaced.

''Sasha-''  
The water rose, and choked his words. 

''Sa-''

He couldn't breathe. They were treading water, and the air was thick with smoke and burnt flesh. There was blood in the water and he wasn't sure if it was his or hers.  
And she was gripping his jaw with her hands and gasping her last breaths against his lips and the last thing he heard was 'Valar Mhorgulis', whispered against his mouth.

/And we have lived./

And then everything went silent, as the ship lurched above them, and the air around them scorched and sizzled, and the ocean yawned up to claim them.

If they would die, then it would be on their terms.

The seasalt was burning-burning in his lungs and eyes and he forced his eyes open as something heavy crashed into the water above them. There were arms around his waist and he clung as they struggled and sank.

They had been young once.  
He had seen her first in a smoky tavern in the village they had just docked in. He was never charged in local taverns- but she, she had stared him in the eyes and asked for payment for the ale he drank.  
He had ordered her to get him another, and she had promised that the next thing he drank would have a poisoned kiss in it.  
And he couldn't remember wanting anyone more.

He had bedded her and left, returning to the little town when he could.  
He had taken her with him, and she had told him that, Pirate captain or no, if he touched her without her permission, she'd open his throat.

They had fought and sailed and he had thought her how to handle a ship.  
She had come to him on her own, sliding into his lap and kissing him, fingers deft on the laces of his breeches.

They had become feared. They had loved each other. They had created a child. Oh, they had lived.

If I am yours, Kraken-son, then you are mine. Even if all that binds us-

One deep breath into his screaming lungs, and the darkness engulfed them.

Bound and drowned by the salt in their throats.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This hurt to write, let me tell you.  
> There will be one more chapter after this- maybe two?- but probably one.


	9. It is the Salt that Brings Us Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What is Dead May Never Die.

''There once was a woman, born to commonfolk and stolen by an Ironborn. And everyone feared her. And all her victims ever talked about was her beauty, and her ruthlessness, and how they feared her and her crew, and her lord Husband.  
She never married the Lord Greyjoy, but she gave him a son, and every night their halls were filled with drinking and revelry.  
And when the dragons came, the salt choked her she died the cruellest death, with her sometime-husband and her crew. None of her beauty or strength mattered a damn when the dragons came.''

Nothing mattered a damn when the dragons came.

 

The Dragon-daughter had settled in her Iron Throne, and the sweet summer children were experiencing the first bites of a cold winter.  
Braavos was much more accommodating.

The little harbour was quiet today, boats bobbing on the water in the shadow of the titan, the giant metal gaurdian that stood over the city.  
The old fisherman scowled as his nets tangled, stiff fingers fumbling on the netting as he tried to tug them apart. The was a tearing sound, and he swore an oath, scrubbing a hand along his dark bearded jaw in irritation.

''Father?''

He turned, setting down the nets, and eyed the young boy behind him warily,.  
''That look tells me you've done something wrong.''

His son shook his head, dark curls bouncing. A youngling of eight namedays, and already tall like his father. But there was a guilty look in his eyes as he sat beside the jetty, feet dipping into the cool water.

His father sighed, and turned back, struggling with the nets. ''No. And a thousand times no- I've already told you-''

''That's not fair! '' The conviction in his voice reminded the man all to much of the boys mother. ''It's my right, and I'm going!'' 

He turned, and the boy looked terrified, but he wasn't wavering, and he wasn't looking anywhere but at his fathers eyes.  
He took the nets and untangled them with a few deft movements, almost like an apology for his words.

 

The boat bobbed on the water, far out to sea, lost in the blue.  
''It didn't used to be blue.'' Herc said. ''They said the water was black for years afterwards.''

He kept his eyes down, hands clasped together in his lap, not thinking about where they were.

His son leaned over the edge of the boat, a hand scooping up the clear water.  
''This is where they died?''

''Aye.''

''Mother. Father.'' His voice was awkward. The first time the boy gets to speak to his parents, and it's like this. It was too cruel.  
''I've come to pay my respects. I hope you're proud of me. Even though I'm not a pirate.''  
The boy raised his hair, and ducked to kiss the water, before letting it trail out of his fingers again, back into the ocean. ''What is dead may never die.''

His voice shook.

''But rises again. Harder-''

Herc sighed, and moved, pulling the boy into his arms and embracing Vladislav.  
''And stronger. You're alright, boy. You're safe.''

The way the boy clung to him almost broke his heart.

''I miss them.''

''I know.''

''I shouldn't.''

''Why not?''

''I don't even remember them.''

Herc felt a laugh work its way up his throat, and for a second he couldn't beleive it- here, on the place Charles died, he was laughing. It felt awful. It felt like absalution.  
He didn't even know why. 

But it felt like Charles understood.

''Then thats when you should miss them the most.''  
There was a pause.

''Will you tell me about them?''

''I've told you all there is to know.''

''Just once more. Please? I'll never ask again.''

 

Herc told him of her mothers skill with an axe, and his fathers laugh.  
Of her quick words and his strong hands. Of how they walked, like they were circling the other, keeping them safe. He talked of how Sasha refused nurses, preferring to care for the babe herself, even while she sailed. He talked of how Aleksis broke a man's back for talking ill of his family.

But he couldn't have known the times he should have talked about. The mornings where they woke in the ships cabin, curled together in the dark bunk with the babe nestled between them.  
That Sasha would nurse him and tell him stories and sing to him when she thought Aleksis couldn't hear. That Aleksis thought that her out-of-tune singing felt like home.

He couldn't have known how after they had come back from a raid, bathed in blood and salt-spray, they'd bathe and sit in front of the fire, talking and laughing and playing little games with their son. That Sasha had never seen anything as lovely than her babe rocked asleep in Aleksis' giant arms.

He couldn't have known how fiercely they loved each other. How that sort of love crawls under your skin and fills your lungs and makes you whole. How the last thing they had ever thought about, in the one breath, in the one mind, was a demand to the old gods and new, to keep him safe.

Vladislav never knew these things. 

 

And he never asked again.

But years later, when a tall man with his fathers dark hair and his mothers eyes stood in that same tower-room in Pyke, he would be driven to his knees with a sudden, aching sorrow that he couldn't describe.  
And he would weep for them all.

For his adopted father. For Charles.  
For his parents he barely knew. Bound to him by nothing but the salt in his blood and the salt in their graves.

 

What is dead may never die.

And they had lived.

**Author's Note:**

> This delightful bit of whimsy comes from myself and Niyin wanting a badass Ironborn Aleksis.
> 
> Badass Ironborn Sasha soon followed.
> 
> Enjoy!


End file.
